


3 Times Iwa-Chan is Soft

by panda_parade



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru Fluff, M/M, Oikawa Tooru is a Little Shit, also i try to be funny, also mentions of the no no, bro idfk at this point pls im going to go to sleep ily all stay hydrated, iwa chan has polaroids, matsukawa and hanamaki are meme team extraordinaire, oikawa drops his pen, oikawa's scared of thunder, ok it's literally just iwa chan being soft for oikawa that's literally the entire fic, rated teen and up bc of iwa chan's potty mouth, sex. im talking ab sex., these tags make no sense out of context pls-, they film a live action romeo and juliet in space ft. teletubbies, well not actually in space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27786274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_parade/pseuds/panda_parade
Summary: Oikawa drops his head on Iwaizumi’s chest. Can hear his steady heartbeat. He imagines this is what thunder would sound like if it could be comforting. “Iwa-chan?”“Yeah?”“Thank you.”Oikawa can’t see his face, but the smile in voice is apparent when he says, “Dumbass. Like you ever have to thank me.”the title's pretty self-explanatory but alternatively: LMAO IM SO WEAK FOR SOFT IWA CHAN HELP
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro & Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 24
Kudos: 185
Collections: kagsivity's fic archive





	3 Times Iwa-Chan is Soft

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: cram school is mentioned in this but i have absolutely no idea how that works so this is prolly pretty inaccurate lmAO so ya just,,, thought i'd mention that
> 
> i am such a simp for iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer pls

1.

They’re strolling down the street, the promise of milk bread making Oikawa skip ahead, Iwaizumi following a few paces behind with his hands shoved in his pockets like the angsty high schooler he is. 

Oikawa flips around. Hopping backwards like this is a bit more difficult, but the great Oikawa-san will make any sacrifices necessary to stare at his darling Iwa-chan’s adorable little frown. (“I swear to god call it adorable one more time and you won’t be able to walk for the next week,” Iwaizumi had said to him once. And then proceeded to smack him when Oikawa said “Iwa-chan, is that a threat or a promise?”)

“Walk faster you old man,” Oikawa calls now.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Don't walk backwards, idiot. You’ll trip.”

“Iwa-chan, only losers trip. I’m immune to that. Guess you could say I’m just built different~” 

Oikawa hears Iwaizumi mumble something that sounds like a more violent version of “I’ll build _you_ different.” It makes him stop, grin. Throw an arm around his grumbling Iwa-chan, who begrudgingly adjusts his pace to match Oikawa’s. 

“You have money, right?” Iwaizumi asks over Oikawa’s humming, voice tentative like he already expects the sheepish smile, the wide innocent eyes, the nervous laughter and the subsequent, “Aha, about that–”

Iwaizumi sighs. “I _asked_ if you had any back at school.” 

“I thought I did!” Oikawa protests, tripping a bit over himself when Iwaizumi stops abruptly. 

“No you didn’t, you fucking freeloader.” 

“Um, excuse you. I bless you with my company in return. Sounds like a good deal to me.”

“Your taste in good deals is skewed.”

Oikawa opens his mouth, fully prepared to defend his accurate tastes and point out Iwa-chan’s brutish qualities, when Iwaizumi twists, digging into his back pocket to wave a painfully empty wallet in his face.

“I asked you to double check for a reason, dumbass. I’m out of cash.”

Oikawa’s mouth drops open, offended by the audacity of the universe, and their stupid convenience store, which only takes cash. God, why even call yourself a convenience store when you’re going to be so inconvenient? He should sue for false advertising. 

“We should–”

“We’re not going to sue for false advertising.”

“How did you know I was going to say that!!!” 

Iwaizumi, predictably, rolls his eyes. 

“Besides,” Oikawa says, honeyed smile returning full force and making Iwaizumi eye him warily. “It’s cute that you think I don’t know about the extra cash you keep in your phone case.” 

The way Iwaizumi’s jaw drops and eyes grow wide would be comical, really, if it weren’t for the murderous flash in them. And then he clenches his fists and Oikawa’s running, spinning behind a streetlamp to have at least some form of defense. Iwaizumi’s probably stupid enough to run head-first into the pole in hopes of getting to him, right?

“Who the fuck told you that?” he demands.

And, really, Oikawa should be appeasing him, but instead he says, “I read your diary~” 

That makes Iwaizumi pause, looking confused. “What? I don’t have a diary.”

Oikawa blinks. “Yes you do.”

Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows. “No. I don’t.” 

“Well then I read _someone’s_ diary.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “You dumbass, what? Whose diary would tell you where I keep my–wait.” His eyes widen, and Oikawa’s scared that he’s going to lunge for him, pole or no pole – and honestly, Iwa-chan’s skull is thick enough to crack right through this shit – when he bursts into laughter. “Did you read my _sister’s_ diary?”

Oikawa’s mouth drops open. Some things… make a lot more sense now, wow. He was wondering why the handwriting looked so nice! “Wait, but how would she know where you keep the money?”

“Because she’s the one I got the idea from, dipshit.”

Oikawa laughs, risking stepping out from behind the street lamp. When Iwaizumi makes no move to beat him up (he’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed about that), he walks back to him and pokes his cheek. 

“Please, Iwa-chan? I need milk bread in my system right now or I’ll _die_ ,” he says, drawing out the words, eyes wide and pleading in the way he knows Iwaizumi’s weak for, can see his resolve crumbling and–

“You are such a menace,” Iwaizumi sighs, hand reaching behind him to pull his phone out of the back pocket of his uniform pants. Oikawa allows himself a small self-congratulatory smile. 

He watches as Iwaizumi pries the case off of his phone, overestimating the strength needed to do so and accidentally pulling too hard, sending the case and the money and some other unidentifiable object spiralling to the ground. 

Oikawa snorts. Hums out a “Once a brute, always a brute~” (and gets a glare for his efforts) as he bends down, collecting the money and the phone case in one hand. He reaches for the other thing, now recognizing them as polaroids, but–

“I got it.” Iwaizumi’s down in a flash, snatching the photos away with a sort of nervous hurry that makes Oikawa’s eyebrows (and curiosity) shoot up.

“Wait, Iwa-chan, what are those?” 

“Polaroids, dumbass. Your extra ass has like dozens of these strung up in your room.” 

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “I know _that_. How dumb do you think I am?” When Iwaizumi opens his mouth, he holds out a hand. “Don’t answer that. Why don’t you want me to see them?”

“I never said that.” 

Oikawa waddles over to Iwaizumi, staying in his squatting position, and tries to peer over his shoulder to see the pictures, but Iwaizumi bends his wrist, hiding them from view. It makes Oikawa pout. He’s curious now, alright? Sue him. 

“Iwa-chaaaan.” 

“You’ll make them impure.”

Oikawa splutters. “Impure?” 

“Yeah, with your gross stare.”

“My gross– Iwa-chan what is this _slander_? Now you have to show me the pictures.”

“What.”

“Well, you insulted me. You have to do something nice to make up for it.”

“What kind of logic–”

Oikawa doesn’t let him finish, darting forward and grabbing the polaroids, quickly standing and holding them out of reach when Iwaizumi swipes at him half-heartedly. 

He stares at them, three in total. There’s one of 14-year-old him laughing brightly at something, a party hat on his head, frosting on his lower lip. He recognizes it as Iwaizumi’s birthday party, when he’d first gotten the polaroid camera. Iwaizumi must’ve taken this picture secretly, because Oikawa had no idea it existed. He purses his lips, trying to keep his giddy smile at bay. Calm the over-excited butterflies in his stomach. He looks at the next picture. 

It’s of the both of them sitting pressed up against each other under the large oak tree in Oikawa’s backyard, a sloppily braided flower-crown (courtesy of the great Oikawa-san) forced onto Iwaizumi’s head. Sunlight dapples their skin, finding its way through bright green summer leaves and curling around them in a protective halo of sorts. Oikawa’s got his fingers up in a peace sign, winking at the camera, and Iwaizumi… Iwaizumi’s got his eyes on him, head tilted ever so slightly and smile so warm that it seems to bleed right through the photo, seems to physically manifest as a tug on his heartstrings. 

The last picture is just Oikawa again. He’s sprawled across Iwaizumi’s rumpled sheets, wearing nothing but a baggy sweatshirt that is most definitely not his. The room’s almost entirely dark, his sleeping form highlighted only by the silvery moonlight that spills in through the window and over his pale skin, giving him an angelic sort of glow. 

The fact that Iwaizumi took these pictures, carries them around at all times, keeps them close to himself. It makes Oikawa’s poor heart malfunction. “Iwa-chan,” he breathes, fingers holding the polaroids like something delicate, eyes trailing down to where Iwaizumi is still kneeling on the ground, face buried in his hands. 

“Shut it,” he says. The tips of his ears are red.

“You stalker,” Oikawa says, because if he acknowledges just how much this means to him he’ll start crying. 

“ _Shut it_ ,” Iwaizumi says again. This time with feeling. 

Oikawa drops down beside him, placing the phone case and the money and the polaroids gently beside himself so that he can reach over and tug Iwaizumi’s hands away from his face. Can kiss the tip of his nose. Can smile wide and say, “You simp,” before kissing him properly. 

“You’re so annoying,” Iwaizumi grumbles against his lips.

“Is that why you carry pictures of me around?”

“Shut your mouth.” 

Oikawa just laughs. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

2\. 

“Will someone _please_ tell me how combinatorial proofs are going to help me in life?” Oikawa demands, bent over his desk and scribbling furiously at his homework, which he only has this lunch period to finish because the idiot spent all of last night watching reruns of some weird alien manifestation show. (“I’ll make it happen, Iwa-chan. I promise you they’ll find me someday.”)

“Can someone _please_ tell me why we still keep this loser around?” Hanamaki says from next to Iwaizumi, his imitation of Oikawa’s whine almost scarily accurate. 

Matsukawa takes a dramatically long sip from his juicebox. Then, “It’s because dear ol’ Iwaizumi-kun here is one horny motherfucker.”

“I–” 

“Wh– that is just offensive on _so_ many levels!” Oikawa looks up, waving his pen around for emphasis. “One, I do _not_ sound like that. Two, at least Iwa-chan and I are getting laid, alright–”

“Ayo, Shittykawa, shut the fuck up–”

“And three, I am like your _sun_ , ok? Without my brilliant radiance you boring old saps would just shrivel up and die. Tell them Iwa-chan!” 

Iwaizumi just drinks out of the spare juice box he’d stolen from Matsukawa. 

Oikawa sighs. “I hate it here.” 

“Then leave,” Hanamaki says.

“See how your problems have solutions.” It’s Matsukawa this time.

They reach across Iwaizumi’s desk and high-five each other. 

Oikawa indignantly flicks his pen at Matsukawa, who bats it away with a lazy grin, causing it to clatter somewhere near Iwaizumi’s foot. And, really, it’s not a conscious decision. He doesn’t _mean_ for it to happen. All he knows is Oikawa says a petulant little “hmph!” and then he’s bending down, long fingers searching for his pen, head coming uncomfortably close to the sharp edges of Iwaizumi’s desk. And all Iwaizumi can think of is Oikawa accidentally hitting his head against it, of the pained yelp that’s sure to follow, and his hand moves of its own accord. Palm comes up to wrap around the edge so even if Oikawa’s dumb ass manages to smack his head against it, the blow would be softened by his hand. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until Hanamaki snickers from next to him.

“What,” he says, only barely registering the soft brush of Oikawa’s hair against his skin as he rights himself again, pen now in hand. 

“You’re so lame.”

Iwaizumi heaves a harassed sigh. “Why this time?” 

In response, Hanamaki pointedly drags his eyes down to where Iwaizumi’s hand is still pressed against the desk corner. Iwaizumi follows his line of sight, blinks, and it takes him a second to realize but as soon as he does he snatches his hand away, face flushing. 

Oikawa looks between the two of them. “What’re you guys talking about?”

“Your boyfriend is the modern Romeo,” Matsukawa says, looking, in Iwaizumi’s humble opinion, unreasonably amused. 

“Wait, why am I Juliet?” Oikawa pouts. 

“You’re very dainty. Iwaizumi has that rugged Romeo vibe about him,” Hanamaki says with a speculative look. 

“Makki,” Matsukawa says suddenly, leaning forward in excitement. “Live action modern adaption Romeo and Juliet, played by Iwaizumi and Oikawa, respectively. Except in this rendition, everyone’s in space with zero gravity.” 

“YES!” Oikawa jumps up, hands slamming on his desk. Iwaizumi really should’ve been expecting it but he flinches anyway. 

“Oh!” Hanamaki quickly jumps onto his train of thought. “Except in the end instead of killing themselves, they fight to the death.”

“But like, with teletubby plushies instead of swords.” 

“Why teletubbies?”

“I dunno I think it’d be fun to watch Oikawa get beaten up by one.” 

Oikawa squawks in protest. It goes unacknowledged. 

“Wait, stop, can this deadass happen.” 

“I am so down,” Oikawa says, homework (and his offence) now long forgotten. 

Iwaizumi groans. No, really. He hates it here. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

3.

“Iwa-chan?”

“Hm?”

There’s a slight chill in the air, only worsened by the distinct lack of sun today. The warmth of Iwaizumi’s palm in his own is the only thing stopping his fingers from getting stuck in that uncomfortable limbo of not exactly cold, but not even close to a comfortable temperature. 

...If that makes any sense.

“My parents are gonna be out late tonight, so I’ll have the house to myself. Wanna come over and keep me company?” 

Iwaizumi groans. His fingers tighten minutely in Oikawa’s hold. “I would, you know I would. But I’ve got cram school tonight.” 

Oikawa scrunches his nose in distaste. “I forgot about that. Ugh, on a Friday, too.” 

They reach the intersection where they break off, and Iwaizumi sighs. “Raincheck?”

“No. I don’t ever want to see your gross, disloyal face again,” Oikawa huffs, pointedly turning away because he expects Iwaizumi to do that soft breathless chuckle of his. Expects the arm that wraps around his forearm and tugs him back around. The fond eyeroll and the “You’re so dramatic,” before the subsequent kiss goodbye. 

Like clockwork.

Oikawa grins. “Bye, Iwa-chan. Have fun being lame.” 

“It’s an art you’ve taught me to master,” Iwaizumi calls over his shoulder as he walks away. 

Later that evening, Oikawa’s curled up on the sofa in his living room, blanket draped over his head and pulled tight around his body like a protective cocoon of sorts. He’s got his earbuds in (which he’s pretty sure he stole from Iwaizumi at some point) and has the show he’s watching blasting on full volume in a desperate attempt to drown out the thunderstorm raging outside the warm confines of his house. 

It’s not working. 

He’s always loved the rain, but harbored this irrational fear of thunder. When he was little, it just used to be about the loud noise which was jarring and scary and gave him bad vibes. Kind of like the full moon. (It’s just _creepy_ , ok. It’s like a gigantic hole-less donut in the sky that wolves supposedly howl at. Is he the only one who finds that unsettling??) But that’s beside the point. At some point it stopped being just about the noise, though. He started associating thunderstorms with power shortages and power shortages with being ambushed and murdered in his home and– 

Point is. Oikawa’s scared of thunder. He’s thunder-phobic. A quick google search tells him it’s called astraphobia. Look at him, being all smart and shit. 

And usually it’s fine when someone else is there with him. Like, it still sucks but at least he can sleep in his parents’ room, or curl up next to Iwaizumi. At least he’s not alone. But of course Iwaizumi and his parents both had to be busy on the _one night_ -

The doorbell rings and Oikawa honest to god _screams_. 

He slams his laptop shut, yanks the earbuds out, and practically flies to the kitchen, hands fumbling in the dark to find the first thing that would pass as a suitable self-defense weapon. As soon as his fingers wrap around the handle of what seems to be a pan, the doorbell rings again, making him jolt. 

He heads back out into the living room, pan held ready to attack, comparing himself to Rapunzel all the while. He doesn’t have a chameleon, unfortunately. But, he supposes, he could just get a hedgehog and name it after Iwa-chan because, let’s be honest, they share quite the resemblance. 

Oikawa stalls in front of the door. Swallows. Calls out a shaky, “Who is it?” 

The relief hits him like a wrecking ball (Miley Cyrus type beat), shoulders sagging with it when he hears that rough voice he adores so much say, “It’s me, dumbass. Open up.” 

The tension leaves him all at once, and he flings open the door. On the other side is a breathless Iwaizumi, cheeks tinted red and breaths coming heavy, clothes wet and sticking to his skin. He’s got a backpack swung over one shoulder.

“I thought you had cram school?”

“I do.”

“...What’re you doing here, then?” 

Iwaizumi sighs. Looks down. Blinks in confusion for a second and then laughs at him, the fucker. “Planning on beating me up with a pan?” 

Oikawa laughs, loud and fake, shoving the stupid thing behind him. “Don’t be ridiculous! I was practicing my culinary skills.” 

Iwaizumi gives him a lazy smile. Water drips from his hair and trails across his temple, catching the light filtering out from Oikawa’s living room. “Don’t bullshit me. If you were doing anything cooking-related the house would have burned down already.”

Another clap of thunder, this one not as aggressive as previous ones have been, cuts Oikawa’s retort off before he can make it.

“You going to let me in or…?” 

“Oh. Yeah, sorry.” Oikawa steps to the side, allowing Iwaizumi to brush past him, breaths still coming unnaturally heavy.

“Iwa-chan…”

Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows, stepping out of his shoes and dropping his backpack down beside them. He kneels down, unzipping the bag and pulling out wet books, placing them on the floor around him (to air them out, probably).

“Iwa-chan, did you run here? Did you ditch cram school??” Oikawa says, a little incredulous as he drops down into a crouch beside Iwaizumi. 

“There was thunder,” is all Iwaizumi says before standing up. “I’m gonna reclaim one of my hoodies, alright? I’ll get everything wet otherwise.” 

Oikawa just nods, following Iwaizumi up to his room, and flopping down onto his bed. He’s still a little in shock that he’s not being murdered right now, and that he’s actually been saved from his stupid being-alone predicament. Maybe internal complaining monologues really do help. But then again, all that complaining and he still didn’t go to nationals. He huffs. Hopefully stupid Tobio-chan’s power’s gone out. 

“Stop fantasizing about something bad happening to Kageyama or Ushijima,” Iwaizumi says, wet clothes in a heap on the floor now. He’s wearing one of his own hoodies, a white one that Oikawa had stolen a couple weeks ago, and a pair of Oikawa’s sweats. 

Oikawa blinks. “What. How did you even–”

“You were making this face.” 

“What face??” 

“You start scowling and your nose scrunches up and it’s kinda like that gross face you make whenever you eat expired milk bread.” 

Oikawa sniffs. “None of my faces are gross.” 

Iwaizumi laughs but the sound’s drowned out by another bout of thunder. It makes Oikawa flinch. 

“Watch something?” Iwaizumi asks, running a hand through his damp hair. 

“Mhm. My laptop’s downstairs.” 

“I’ll go get it.” And then he’s turning around to head back downstairs and Oikawa knows he’s just being stupid at this point but–

“Iwa-chan, wait. Don’t leave me alone.” 

Iwaizumi blinks at him. His lips curl up every so slightly and he bends down to drop a kiss against Oikawa’s nose. “Baby, it’s just downstairs. I’ll be right back.” 

“But–”

“Count to ten. I’ll be back by then.”

Oikawa snorts. “Don’t fall down the stairs, you loser.” 

“If it means getting back to your whining, princess ass sooner, I’d do it.” 

“Iwa-chan, how are you simultaneously so sappy but also so brutish?” 

Iwaizumi just flashes a crooked grin before walking out of the room. Oikawa sighs, eyes trained on the glow-in-the-dark stars plastered to his ceiling. He can hear the steadfast thrum of rain against his window, his Iwa-chan’s quiet footsteps as he subconsciously avoids all the creaking floorboards, a feat drilled into his muscle memory after countless late-night rendezvous. 

It’s peaceful. Perfect, even. Until that fucking thunder makes him jolt and nearly yelp but it’s alright because Iwaizumi’s back.

He’s back and nudging Oikawa with a quiet, “Move over,” and dropping down on the bed beside him. He opens the laptop, one hand typing in Oikawa’s password while the other curls around Oikawa’s waist, warm fingers drawing circles into the space right above his hip bone. 

Oikawa drops his head on Iwaizumi’s chest. Can hear his steady heartbeat. He imagines this is what thunder would sound like if it could be comforting. “Iwa-chan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” 

Oikawa can’t see his face, but the smile in his voice is apparent when he says, “Dumbass. Like you ever have to thank me.” 

~ ~ ~

[Bonus]

“Oh, Hajime-kun!” Oikawa’s mother is smiling at him, though she looks a bit unsettled. “I’m glad you’re here. Tooru and the rest of them are in the backyard but…” 

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. 

“You know what? I think it would be better if you see for yourself.”

“...Alright. Thanks, Oikawa-san.” 

“Mhm.” 

And when Iwaizumi rounds the house to get to the backyard, he’s not sure what exactly he’s expecting, but it definitely isn’t _this_. 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa grins. He’s dressed in more black than Iwaizumi thought he even owned, his old, pink bicycle helmet forcing his hair to stick out in odd directions. He’s holding a red teletubby body pillow out in front of him like some kind of sword. 

Hanamaki’s sitting on a stool, using Matsukawa, who’s kneeling in front of him, as a makeshift stand for his phone. Gigantic printouts of space are taped on the fence behind them, and they’ve even hung some cut-out stars from the lower branches of the oak tree. 

“What even–”

“Ah! Iwaizumi! You’re late. Quick, suit up.” Hanamaki waggles his eyebrows at him, producing another bicycle helmet seemingly out of nowhere and tossing it to him. “We’re gonna pretend those are the kind of face-things astronauts wear so that they can breathe in space. Oi, why’re you just standing there? C’mon, chop chop! Let’s get this show on the road.”

“What. Is happening.” 

Matsukawa glances back at him. “We’re filming our live action modern adaptation of Romeo and Juliet.” 

“I–”

Iwaizumi blinks once. Twice. Then turns on his heel and gets the fuck out of there.

Two weeks later, the movie premiers. It consists only of that one fight scene, and it’s Oikawa fighting in slow motion (“For the whole zero-gravity effect!”) with a poorly photoshopped image of Iwaizumi. It’s not even, like, a picture that could fit the scene. It’s Iwaizumi’s school picture: him smiling at the camera in his uniform looking like he wants to jump off a building. Which, honestly, with the way he’s been edited into this thing, seems quite the accurate expression. And everytime their teletubby-weapons clash, there's a rooster-clucking sound effect, which, by the way, what?? 

Neither of them wins, either. It ends with both of them declaring their love for one another, and then stabbing each other with their teletubbies. It makes absolutely no sense. 

And yet, here Iwaizumi is. Watching this dumb shit while shoveling popcorn into his mouth and applauding at the end because his friends are such losers but he is so, _so_ weak.

**Author's Note:**

> my bsf and i once made a 3-minute long iMovie where there was an apocalypse and she chased me down the boardwalk w a flip-flop bc that was what had caused it and we called it "Flip-flopalypse" and we overused animal sound effects so that was what inspired the rooster sound effect
> 
> anyways !!
> 
> kudos & comments are appreciated !! tysm for reading <33333


End file.
